United Earth First Chapters
United Earth (Galactic Chronicles, Earth Cycle - Volume 1) ©2017 V.Ravencroft Batavia, NY USA Foreword by the Author This is the first volume in the Earth Cycle. The last volume 'Ascent of Terra' concludes , 'the Terra Cycle'. United Earth is chronologically the 8th book of the 37 volumes volumes that make up the novels I have written so far in the Galactic Chronicles Universe. This universe of mine has grown over the many years and has attracted many readers and friends from all over the globe. If you ever wanted to know more about a certain species or futuristic / alien term simply search for the galactic chronicles GalNet wiki online and chances are that one of the 14,000 plus pages will offer you more back ground. United Earth tells about a new era of mankind. It is five years since the IIIrd World War has been suddenly ended by the open landing of the Sarans in Washington D.C. and the appearance of the Guardian of Earth. Earth is in chaos, the forced errasure of nation states did not go as smoothly as the Guardian expected. Just before the war ended, North Korea nuked Seattle and Juno, Theran nuked Tel Aviv and Israel turned Iran into a nuclear wasteland. ''' '''Pakistani Nukes rained on India and India retaliated. Eight years of land war against the Chinese on the Asian and European continent has drained the resources of the USA and China faces the largest hunger cathastophe in human history. The strongest ever recorded Earthquake destroyed Los Angeles, San Diego and San Franciso. Militia and Patriot troops control much of America. New York City , Chicago, Cleveland, Denver are isolated from many supplies. National currencies have collapsed. ''' '''The events in this story take place in a time when Earth and more so human kind struggles to survive. Many Earthers don't see the Aliens as the saviors they want to be seen. The Saran Queen openly declared Earth a free society,but secretly plots to harvest the able bodied and highly educated under the guise of a general evacucation before the Xunx fully awake. She denies the Pan Sarans access to Earth and limits Earthers travel off planet. But out of the twohundred guides of humanity the Guardian has chosen a few begin to emerge and step into the public eye: OBrock McElligott, Dr. Isah, Rex Schwartz and Richard Stahl. This his book was written under very special circumstances and a very strange time of my life. I might get into the details of that in a future blog post and mention some of it on my Facebook page, but for now I welcome you to the Galactic Chronicles universe and hope you enjoy your stay. ''' '''At Astra, to the Stars, Yours truly ''' '''Vanessa Ravencroft Prologue The Saran shuttle banked as it approached New York City. He was glad this trip came to an end. He turned his head to stare past the viewport and have a good look at the city. As the spacecraft closed in on the buildings and sky scrapers, he felt an illict thrill. Five Years, he thought. Just half a decade had past since he had last set foot on this planet. If it hadn't been for the will of his Queen he would have remained on this beautiful emerals ball, blessed with so much natural beauty and filled with a particular lot of headstrong inhabitants. His eyes closed for a moment as he remembered the last time, then he looked again at the many buildings and traffic jamed streets below him. A good two thousand years ago, this planet or more precisely a no longer existing society, was the inspiration of a revolution, that had split the Saran empire effectivley in half. The shiny shuttle made a smooth landing as it landed feathersoft using its arti grav cushions. He got up and took his carry on from the smiling attendant he felt a little embarassed art the quickening of his heart. He was certain everything would be fine. The specialists back on Romulus were the very best in their field and besides the Identification was accurate enough. It read Ammun Kethmmar which was true. It did not say Commandant Ammun Kethmmar Ra's Eye division. He stood in line for inspection. The room was crowded, the floor littered with crumbled paper, wrappers and other waste. Only a handful of passengers moved over to the line for Earther's returning. Few could afford to go off planet and those who could were not in a hurry to return. The queue was moving now. He handed his Identification card over to an overweight looking gentleman wearing the United Earth customs uniform of black trousers, white shirt, necktie and billed cap. As the customs man took his ID card and shoved it into the reader, he felt again that quickening of the heart. It would be alright, Earthers were still so primitive and did not really know how to use this equipment anyhow. He wished he could dismiss that last conversation with that disturbing female in the RA's Eye office. She seemed pleasant and bored at first, as she chewed on a small wad of Syntho Balg. "You realize, Commandant, that if anything goes wrong we can't assist you? I hate to say this but you will be on your own. The house is eternally grateful for your services, of course, but it can't be linked to your mission. Either officially or unofficially." That had been a cold realization. No back up, even for a Commandant. The Eye of Ra woman had smiled at him, it was a cold perhaps a little patronizing smile. ''' '''The customs agent was eying him. The agent's beard was a three day old stubble and his stubby fingers fumbled with the ID card. His duckbill hat looked about three sizes too small. ""Purpose for your visit to Earth?" "Business." He responded. "What kind of business?" "Steel." The lie came easy on his lips." I am here to visit steel mill towns. I represent a Saran company that is interested in purchasing some steel mills, put them back into business." The customs agent glared at him as he handed back the ID card. Kethmmar knew the look. Ambivalence, that was it. Earther had two attitudes about their cousins afrom outer space: gratitude for the help and aid they had received this past decade, from food to medicine to new technology,and hatred for everything attached to that aid - the prefered treatment of Egyptians, the exodus of their very best students lured off planet to the wonderful, almost mythical planets of the Saran empire; the cell restoration treatments for rejuvination and the medical treatments for just afortunate few; and the business sharks, like the one he trying to portray. Coming in year after year, to buy up the shattered industries and natural resources and fallow earth of this beautiful and wounded planet, to make a tidy profit on galactic markets still closed and virtually unaccessible to Earthers, but also slowly to bind this forgotten colony of human cousins firmly to the Saran empire. The customs agent curled his lips and snarled."Welcome to Earth." The voice of the agent was about as cheerful as the one of a funeral parlor director. Kethmmar put the ID card away, noticed that the man's uniform was a repurposed TSA uniform. "Thanks for what it is worth," he said. After being cooped up in a relative small spacecraft for over four weeks, the short walk through the crowded terminal was actually a pleasure. Outside he noticed the exhaust fumes of fosil fuel driven vehicles, something he remembered well from his last visit. Even though Earthers started to use electric driven vehicles, the abundancy and quite advanced sophistication they acheived using fossil fuels made electric vehicles still a rarity. He also noticed the first flyer. It was only five years ago, when Earthers were more or less pushed onto the Galactic stage and Saran science had shown them that artificial gravitation control was possible. He was lucky, he had only to wait about two minutes or so for a yellow taxi cab at one of the stands outside of the terminal. Most of the travellers were of course air plane passengers. He held on to his carry on as he climbed into the rear compartement of the car and said, "The Trump." and the taxi driver, wearing a bright orange head wrapping of tightly arranged fabric, with a skin complexion very similar to his own, grunted something and off they went. The driver looked at him through a rectangular mirror mounted to the windshield. A wild assortment of beads, and colorful plastic things were wrapped around the mirror's base. There was a very sweet smell in the car that reminded him of the incence the priests burned in one of the many temples back home. The driver addressed him in a very strange, high pirchesd accented Saranas."Welcome to Earth and welcome to New York city. I hope you had a pleassant passage comming here al the way from the Saran empire. I am planning to go there Mister!" "Thank you for the welcome. I am impressed by your use of Saranas. However I am trying to practice my English." The driver of course had identified him as Saran because of the shuttle that had landed and not by the heavy eye make up and the bald head. Saran fashion was often copied by Earthers, especially of course Egyptians. Ammun did not wear the the traditional Saran head scarf, nor did he wear Saran male fashion. He was wearing a Earth style business suit. The car was leaving the airport and went into a tunnel. The taxi cab slowed down and came to a crawling pace behind the bright red breaklights of yet another yellow taxi. The driver raised his left arm."No worries Mr. Saran, the traffic is going to be better after we pass road maintenance, they closed one lane. Ammun leaned back, he didn't mind. He had crossed 344 light years aboard a civilian space barge, landed on Earth humanities first space port on the moon and had taken a shuttle from Earth's moon. He felt that another half hour one way or the other would make little difference. The last worldwar had officially ended only two years ago. The horrible after effects of the Armaggedon quake of '92; the nuclear bombing of Seattle, Olympia, Eugene and Anchorage were still very much evident even here on the East Coast. ' '''The long war had already drained the economical resources of almost every country. He saw the homeless refugees darting between the stop and go traffic, begging for change. ' '''Some of them carrying the gifts from the fallout in form of open sores and radiation burns. Fifteen minutes later he had arrived at one of the cities finest hotels, named after a former president if he remembered his Earth history correctly. He stared at the likeness of the 45th president that grinned at him from a painting in the plush lobby and now as certain this was the president of the United States elected in 2016 or around that time. About the same time thirty teenagers were abducted by Freons. ''' '''He sighed, much had happened in those 72 years, much had happened indeed. Shortly after checking in, he was in his suite, lying down on the 'no tech' bed with his clothing still on and his shoes off, fighting the exhaustion of the so slightly stronger gravitation, it was as if he had suddenly gained a few extra kilos of weight. It wasn't much and he was certain he would soon get used to it again. After a few moments rest he got up and went into the washroom, putting a washcloth soaked with hot water over his face and braved the vitalizing sting of this almost claustrophobic moist experience for a few moments and the stared into the mirror and into the eyes of his reflection. He looked tired even after this age old method of getting the juices flowing. With a few wipes he removed the rest of the now smeared eye make up. His dark brown eyes noted the collection of wrinkles around his eyes, they came from squinting into the light of too many planets and the bright white explosions of anti matter warheads in deep space while he was an executive officer aboard a Saran war barge. His bald head had the dark bluish shimmer of hair that was about to break as faint stubble through his scalp. Much of it, if he ever let it grow would have shown more gray than black. He knew he looked old for his age, but he was never much for the cosmetic options that came with the cell rejuvination sessions. He was quite proud of himself that he pretty much kept the same trim body and and the same weight from when he was just eighteen orbits old entering the service of the Queen. And such years of service, from the hot plains of Betrhira colony to occupation duty on Thalag, and then getting the chance to serve as man in the white uniform of command aboard the war barge Aluxumth for over nine years. Since it was almost impossible for a male to climb higher and into the command chair of a war barge unless he would have been willing to make the so called 'adjustment' he got more and more involved with the diplomatic side of service. While he would have loved to be in command of his own war barge, making the adjustment and have his gender physically changed was too steep of a price. Now he still was in the service to the Queen, meeting an Earther he had not seen since he left Earth five years ago. An American who claimed to have something vital, something important for both Earth's and the Empire's future. ''' '''He tossed the now lukewarm washcloth into the sink, renewed his Saran style eye make up with the swift expertise obtained doing the same thing for many decades. He didn't need an automated make up box and he never experimented with new designs and styles. He applied the black eyeliner, extended it past the outer eyelids just as it was regulation and tradition. Then he went back into the salon of the suite. Of course, the poor bastard was probably crazy as a Temple servant that came too close to the sacred fumes for too many times. He sat down behind what Earther's called a laptop, this one was provided for him by the hotel. Jamara. He could get a Myon Transponder connection provided by Sprint Space or Telekom -Beyond- and sent her a message. The message would reach her in about twenty three days,only slightly faster than the thirty two days it took for a message sent by courier ship. By then he might already on his way back. ''' '''He mused about what she was doing right now. He checked his Data-Comm for the time on Luxor planet, Sebeth Colony. A soft smile curled his lips, it was late night and she was probably sleeping in their compfortable low grav bed - no question with the large Data-Comm - turned into a popular beauty themed broadcast - yes he knew his wife alright. She would be happy to hear from him, despite her disaprovement at him for being gone for so long. He was about to compose a message, when he deleted the initial portion he had already recorded. No it would not be smart. He had no idea who might be listening in on Myon transponder messages that left Earth. He got up and put his light travel coat back on. He'd get a quick meal in one of the hotels restaurants and have a few drinks at one of the bars before going to bed. Besides he had to concentrate on what was ahead of him. He could not be distracted by thoughts about Jamara,as much as he loved her. The last time ... they had been on the terrace of their pleasant city apartment in Sebeth Colony, overlooking the golden spires of this clean and beautiful Saran city; when he told her he had to go off planet and all the way to distant Earth. She had put her porcelain tumbler down into the filigrane metal holder, her hand was shaking. She then had stared at him, her face a mixture of fear and dismay. "Tell me you're not serious Ammun!" "I am affraid not, precious," he said, sitting down onto the cushioned recliner. "I am told it is something very important, something only I can do." "Nonsense!" She exclaimed."The Diplomatic service has many thousand active employees. You haven't been on the active list for over three years now.Let them sent someone else." He spoke firmly, something he was always alowed to do in his home, despite the fact that Jamara was a woman. "They can't. There is an Earther. Someone I knew when I was on Earth the last time. He will only talk to me, that is the reason I must go." Tears were slowly welling up in her eyes."I've been with you many years now Ammun and through me you are a Kethmma. I treated you equal to me and never made an issue of you being just a man. I have never complaint when the Aluxumth went out for another long patrol. I went with you to Thalar and waited for you when you left for that aful planet of primitves. Not once have I said a word." "I know, Jamara. It meant everything to me. But how can I refuse the Queen?" "By telling her to find someone else. She is a Kethmma and so am I." She raised her voice." You are retired, an old man. You have done your share for the crown. They want to sent you on some silly cloak and dagger mission to a planet where they just had a nuclear war, where they are starving and live in stone age conditions. I simply forbit it." "You will say that to the Queen, your aunt?" Jamara lowered her head, her voice and her lashes."No, I guess I won't" She folded her arms, turned and walked to the ballustrade to stare over the skyline, her most favorite view and whispered."Damn the queen!" The next morning he had silently packed a small carry on and took a flyer to the space port without saying good bye. An hour later he knew he had made a mistake. He had a solitary and quite painful meal. He had forgotten just how spicy Earth food was. The American beer was way to cold for Saran taste. After dinner he decided to take a quick walk outside to clear his spinning head, American beer was also much stronger than Saran Thill. He stepped out onto fifth Avenue and joined the night crowd bustling up and down the sidewalks. There seemed to be a NYPD cop on almost every street corner and he tried to blend in, though he knew it would not work, despite him wearing a suit. ''' '''There were many homeless even here near broadway. One cardboard sign read, Seattle gone, IT specialist will work for food." The man holding it up looked hungry and so did many others. At broadway he turned left and stopped. A group of NYPD officers and National guard were swarming out of a storefront door that had a FOR LEASE sign posted in its window. They had riot gear, automatic rifles and plastic police barriers with them. He was not sure what was going on, but he had seen enough. It was time to go back to his suite. he turned and saw a man with a tired face, in a crumbled tan coat, holding a police badge in his hand. He glanced around and saw other men in suits doing the same thing to about a dozen people who were walking away from the quickly errected barriers. "Not so fast Mister," the policeman said. "You got to go somewhere so quickly? "Yes," he said."I'm going back to my hotel." The police officer looking me in the face. "You are an Off-worlder, aren't you? A Saran right?" "I am indeed." he said, reaching in his pocket. "Here is my ID card." The officer quickly glancing at it, noticing the holographic imprint over the photo."Seems genuine and yes it seems to be a good idea, going back to your hotel that is." He put the ID card away and said."What in Seth's name is going on?" The grumpy officer shrugged. "Citizen check, make sure these folks have permission to live here. You need permission to live and work in New York state and I guess in every other state and city in this our former country. If you don't it's back to your former country or state or whatever." "But they are just trying to survive and make a living aren't they until we can evacuate." "Yeah, but if everyone moved into New York city, waiting to be evacuated there be no room for the real New Yorkers on whatever ships you Sarans promissed. Besides we are at the brink of our resources as it is and you damn aliens messing it all up, and -hey! You there! Stop!" The policeman started running after a scared looking young man who was now disapearing into an alleyway. Ammun quickly made his way back to the Trump. He should have stayed home. This was an awful place. The only work here was for the ones without scruples and those without heart. He was neither. He leaned against the wood paneling of the hotel's lift , exhausted. Damn gravity! Just twelve more hours, that's all he thought. Twelve more Earth hours. A good night's sleep and a hot shower in one of these almost useless Earth showers in the morning. Then there would be a short meeting in some little bar or tavern of this city with that darn Earther. After a quick visit to the consulate , he would be on the next shuttle back to th moon and shortly thereafter on a space barge back home. He promissed himself that if some official of the Diplomatic service ever called on him again, he'd tell him to take a bath in a basin full of hungry Amusurth. He used the key card to unlock the door to his suite.Wait this couidn't be his suite? He stood there staring confused, there in his bed, an attractive young Earth woman wearing nothing much, except for some whispy transparent chiffon. "Ammun," she whispered."It is about time you showed up." He went closer, he had this straightened out. This wasn't even a woman at all, but a young girl perhaps not even of age for this sort of thing. "Sorry young lady, you have the wrong room." She shook her blonde hair."No I do not. You are Ammun Kethmmar, not from Earth but from Saran and you hired me for the night." There was noise behind him and he turned. Two men and a woman came from the bathroom, all three wearing dark business suits. The woman wore a skirt instead of trousers. Their faces expressionless flesh colored masks and all three holding weapons. He took a deep shuddering breath, felt his hands relax. So this is where everything would end. Far from the Saran empire on a remote planet of primitives. He looked back at the girl, she was shivering in fear and tears dropped down her cheeks. He sat down on the bed, took one of her hands and said."My dear would you let me pray to RA for us both?" She nodded while she was sobbing bitterly. He looked uop and saw the three masked, dark suited individuals approach with slow measured moves. He glanced at the lab top at the desk not far away. Now he wished he had composed that message to his wife. CHAPTER ONE The dead man lay with his face down on his bed, his arms still tied with plastic cable ties. The sheets and covers pooled around his feet. The back of his head gone, instead there was a gorey mess of blood. He had on a pair of dirty socks and his skinny white legs were covered with a fluff of hair. he was otherwise butt naked. The apartement smelled of old clothes and moldy air and something else. Bruce Thurlow recognized that other smell. It was the scent of a body. Brutally violated giving up its life. It was a smell that had intrigued him once. The it had depressed him. Now, it was just something he was used to, it was part of the job. Bruce was a reporter with the New York Times and he stood at the dead man's bedroom door, Iphone in hand speaking notes about everything he saw in a bullet list type of style. The same kind style he had used in high school and the Navy and four years of newspaper work. Detective Joe Connors saw him at the door frame and separated himself from the cops, the ME and CSI. He and Bruce were friends, well at least as much as a cop and a reporter could be. Connors was in his late forties, overweight and wore a tan trench coat that flapped about his calves. There was a fair amount of gray stubble on his chin where he had misses shaving this morning , and his thining gray and black hair combed over a balding scalp and stuck in place with the help of some sort of moist shimmering hair gel. "Oh for Christ's sake, Bruce get out of here, will ya? How did you get past the yellow tape up front anyway?" He asked shoving Bruce backwards."I let you see the stiff, once ME and CSI are done. Anymore and the rest of the media that shows up wants the same treatment and we never getting rid of your kind ever again." Bruce smiled his best 'your my buddy' smile."Come along then, chat with me for a second or two, will you? I got a deadline coming up. Newspapers need all the edge nowadays." "And have a story that beats the TV chaps , eh?" "Exactly. By the way there was no yellow tape at the back door when I got in." "Remind me to chew the unifroms a new one for that." ''' '''Two steps and they were in the kitchen. A younger detective, Joe's partner wearing latex gloves crouched before the overflowing trash can and digging through a bunch of discarded TV dinner boxes and sticky plastic trays. The apartment is small and cluttered and to Bruce's trained eyes it had been searched. Drawers were open, closet doors ajar and clothing and dishes scattered across the floor. The cushions of the sofa sliced open and the stuffing spilling out like yellow cancer sores. The kitchen floor was linoleum and there were two metal bows side by side right next to the kitchen table. There were dishes still in the sink, a cereal bowl and an empty stained coffe mug, with Snoopy sitting on his red doghouse, dressed as world war one fighter ace imprinted on it. An ancient Apple desktop, a flat screen Toshiba TV, and a pile of newspapers and magazines next to the mutilated shabby looking couch in the living room. The characteristic whining of an incoming moon shuttle was suddenly heard overhead coming in to JFK airport. The carpet was light brown and threadbare along the edges, with a faint pattern of bluish rectangles. The door had three locks and two dead bolts in addition to two door chains. This was nothing unusual for any apartment in New York and especially in a neighbor hood like this. Now as winter was approaching fast and the many homeless looked for places to be warm. He noticed that none of the locks appeared to be broken and the door frame was intact. During the past five years working for the New York Times, Bruce had run into Joe on a fairly routine basis. Bruce was technically a general assigment reporter, but he mostly covered crime. He and the older detective had a good work relationship. Joe was more or less straight when it came to news and Bruce was equally polite when it came to asking the questions. Joe handed Bruce a bone once in a while and he made sure the department was never misquoted and things that were not supposed to find their way into the paper, stayed out. Joe sighed wishing for a cigarette and popped a Nicorette gum instead."What we have here is one David Putnam. Age 59, apparent gunshot point blank and through a pillow to the back of his head." Joe's accent still had the unique New Jeresey flavor, despite the fact that Joe was now working on this side of the river for over thirty years. "Poor bastard was tortured so it seems before his lights were turned off, permanently." Carl recording it all with his phone said."Well him being shot seems obvious." "Yep, smart ass. It sure looks that way, but I am not calling it a shooting death until the ME says so. And the ghoul is still busy. Would make me look like an idiot if they turn him around and find a knife through his heart, right?" Despite the depressing and gruseome sight, in the next room. Bruce could not fight the hard grin that curled his lips."Yeah I guess that makes sense. Any guesses who might done the shooting? Looking at the door, it doesn't look like forced entry. What do you think?"" Joe hefted his watery eyes at Bruce, chewed on his wad of nicotine gum and gave Bruce the look."I think those gums are awful, I tell you, but tobacco use is now outlawed within the city limits of New York." "Joe..." "I better go back to the CSI guys and tell them we might deal with a shooter and have a closer look at the door." "Joe, I think it is pretty obvious the old bugger got shot. Who's got guns in New York city these days? The cops and organized crime. Not civilians and certainly not the average homeless or street thug. So what do you think? "Still there is hardware out there and now with them damn aliens, we suddenly find ourselves with guns that don't look like guns and leave nothing but ashes." "That dead schmuck wasn't blasted by some Saran laser. That head was busted open by a slug, right?" "I think you crossing the line from being a reporter to being a god damn PI or something and a royal pain in my ass." "It's my exposure to you,Joe. I soaked up all that crime scene expertise seeing you at work. How did the call come in?" "He got a friend downstairs, I'll think it's the super or something. He heard some noise last night. Thought it might have been the TV. Then David didn't show up for their usual lunch . When he came up to check he found the door not completley closed. He pushed it open, saw the body and called us." Joe wrapped the gum in a piece of tissue and put it in his pocket."God aful these things! " The detective again gave Joe a quizzical look."Come to think of, what explains your presence? Especially since we don't use open radio anymore." "You are not the only friend I got in the precinct, Joe." Bruce looked around the kitchen and then asked."Anything like suspects or theories?" "C'mon, we've been here all of 30 minutes and you fouling up the crime scene for almost that long." "Burglary gone sour? Home invasion would explain the cable ties." "Look, Bruce, get the hell out, will ya?" "Just give me a few seconds." Bruce made a gesture that included the whole place. "No pictures and no paper books. You'd think this old guy would have pictures of family and friends on the walls. But no, nothing." He looked at the magazines."Time, featuring well aged Baron Trump on the cover. Reader's Digest with a picture of Baron Trump. National Geographic with a feature story about the first colony on Venus. There were several copies of Stars and Stripes and a Sports Illustrated. The Reader Digest explained perhaps the lack of books. He didn't see a Kindle or Smart phone anywhere. "Bruce let's go." "I am out of here." By the door, he finally figured what was bothering him. It was the coat that was hanging right by the door.Old desert cammo parka, torn and mended, no insignia, no patches. ''' '''Bruce glanced back, the coroner's men just lifted the the black body bag onto the gurney. Holy Shit. Could it be? The guy claimed to be a veteran. Bruce remembered. It happened a month ago, the first really cold day of September. A truly awful day. For six hours he was waiting close to ''' '''Joe Seymour Ron Dawson David Putnam Fred Mattes Jed Morris Andrew Mills Joe Connors Bruce Thurlow Brad Hill Category:Fragments